"You lie, hussy!" replied Jonathan, rudely pushing her aside, as she vainly endeavoured to oppose his entrance into the room; "she is here. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth. They pressed more insistently, forcing her lips open. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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